


Backseat Driver

by Cesare



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angry Sex, Begging, Car Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 22:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've always heard about backseat makeouts," Charles says. "A fine old American pastime, by all accounts. Some fun, a bit of action. I want to try it. Don't you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backseat Driver

"I'll follow in my car," Angel tells them after she agrees to join up with them. "Give me two hours to pack."

"Of course," Charles says smoothly, and Erik ponders passing the time in the club. Probably unwise. That red-draped bed presents too much temptation. So when Charles nods toward the parking lot and leads Erik to their own car, Erik follows without comment. They'll go somewhere else to wait.

Somewhere else turns out to be a wooded stretch down a gravel road just outside of town. "And this is...?" Erik invites an explanation.

"Not far from Angel's apartment," Charles says. "We'll meet at the petrol station up the road. Til then, I thought..." he flashes a smile and gets out of the car, only to get right back into the backseat.

"I'm not sure you did think," Erik says, turning to look. Charles takes off his suit jacket and throws it over the driver's seat, one eyebrow raised.

"I've always heard about backseat makeouts," Charles says. "A fine old American pastime, by all accounts. Some fun, a bit of action. I want to try it. Don't you?"

"No," Erik says shortly.

"I know it might seem awkward since your legs are long, but I always fit in your lap easily enough, don't I?" Charles offers. "We'll manage."

"No, we won't."

Charles drops his voice. "I'll owe you one."

Erik's tempted. But so far in their association, Charles has readily acquiesced to every offhand suggestion, every whispered fantasy, no matter who 'owes' what.

"I don't ask much," Erik says, "but I insist on one condition. A door that locks."

With an obnoxious flourish, Charles locks the car door.

"An opaque door," Erik adds, and Charles rolls his eyes.

He slides to the middle of the backseat and leans closer. "Erik..." he murmurs, and Erik perceives that he made a crucial tactical error. He never should have turned around.

Charles looks at him seriously, all challenge and mischief forgotten, his eyes growing dark. "Erik, please." Color rises in his cheeks. His hands rise to slowly unbutton his dress shirt, exposing his throat, his pulse beating visibly under the skin, racing. He licks his lips and leaves them parted, drawing an unsteady breath. "Please."

Erik unlocks and flings open all the car doors with his power, gets out and ducks his head in, holding himself back, barely. "Once more."

Charles tucks away the tiny hint of triumph that was just starting to show and breathes again, "Please."

"Shameless," Erik mutters, getting in and yanking Charles into his lap by his shirt, slamming shut all the doors at once. "You're not getting a 'backseat makeout,' I'll tell you that now," he's stripping Charles half with his hands and half with his power, "I'm not going to stop at heavy petting, I'm not squirming around back here groping like a teenager." He sits on the passenger's side and kicks Charles's trousers into other footwell, shoves the rest of his clothes out of the way. He needs Charles's cooperation to get off the shirt, and Charles resists, holding it around him and blushing furiously, as if this whole thing hadn't been his idea.

He never knows, with Charles, if anything is an act, if Charles really feels something, really enjoys something, or just reads Erik's mind and reacts the way Erik expects, gives Erik what he wants to see. At times like this, half-angry with Charles and so turned on he's light-headed, Erik's not sure it matters. He unfastens his belt and fly and spreads the zipper open, and he nearly can't believe he's doing this in a car outdoors with sunlight pouring in through the window, open for anyone to see, but he pulls out his cock and says, "Suck me."

Charles nods and folds down awkwardly in the footwell, leaning over Erik's lap and mouthing Erik's cock the way he always takes it at first... a false start, his tongue sliding under, his red lips parted, not enough, and a little frown; then he licks his lips and tries again, opening wider, eyes falling shut, a low, hungry _nnh_ in his throat as he keeps trying to take more and more.

Erik can't let him keep it up long, the sight overwhelming as always. He threads his fingers through Charles's hair and tugs with a hoarse, "Stop," and Charles reluctantly pulls off. "Get up here," Erik says, and when Charles starts to straddle his lap, "no. Facing away." Charles swallows, shuddering, and turns around, bracing himself against the passenger's seat.

By now Erik knows better than to go anywhere with Charles without a tube of Vaseline, and that alone makes him angry again, evidence of how well Charles has him trained. He's not gentle when he slicks his fingers and presses them into Charles, working in and out of his ass while he listens to Charles react with little whines and hitches in his breath. "Is this what you wanted?" Erik asks. "A bit of action? Some _fun?"_ pushing viciously deeper.

"Yes," Charles answers, low.

"Louder."

"Yes," says Charles harshly, "I wanted this, I want this, Erik, will you just-- please," and he looks over his shoulder, bites his lip, meets Erik's eyes, and he spreads his thighs wider, arches his back.

Erik grips his cock, half in a futile effort to hold back, half in preparation. He'll have to hold himself steady; Charles is always wincingly tight at first. "Say it," Erik says, as if he has a hope in hell of holding out for much longer, with Charles's perfect ass in his lap and Charles clutching the passenger's seat, his whole body galvanized, his dress shirt clinging damply to the small of his back, his shoulders.

Charles gasps, "Please fuck me," muffled against the headrest of the front seat, and Erik grabs him and yanks him back, pushing up into him hard. He almost misses the cry Charles chokes out in the sound of his own shout, the sudden heat of Charles all around him, the perfect clench of his body.

"Further apart," Erik growls, shoving Charles's thighs, "wider," til Charles is splayed with almost no leverage, only his hands fiercely grasping the front seat, his weight driving him down onto Erik, taking him all. Charles pants, his flanks shivering, his body tested just by this much. When Erik takes his hips in both hands and lifts him off, only to pull him back down onto his cock, the deep pained _"Ahh"_ he gets from Charles sounds like music.

"Why aren't you touching yourself?" Erik asks roughly, with as much voice as he can still gather. Charles shakes his head, breathless, and Erik says, "You won't even have to, will you. This is all you need," and when Erik reaches around to feel his cock, he knows he's right. Charles is hard and hot, mindlessly trying to rub off against Erik's hand with a whimper, so wet it's dripping off him.

Erik lets go to clutch Charles's hips again. He lifts him and holds him there, fucking up into him, his shoulders grinding against the seat behind him, his belt jingling with every move.

"Please," Charles says, and Erik knows he's close, speeding his thrusts, driving into him harder. "Oh," Charles tightens around him, so tight, Erik's ears are ringing, sweat pouring down his face as Charles sobs, "please, _please,"_ and Erik hauls him back against his chest and gets a hand on him just in time to feel him come, holding him as Charles shakes apart in his arms, taking Erik with him.

-

Neither of them smokes, but Erik keeps a pack on him in case they come in handy-- offering someone a cigarette or a light is a useful ploy. They don't smoke ordinarily, but after sex like that, Erik lights up just to have something to do with his shaking hands, and when he passes the cigarette over, Charles takes a drag.

"Thank you," Charles says eventually, languid, draped against Erik's shoulder, ever polite.

"Think nothing of it," Erik answers, aiming for dry.

"I imagine I'll be thinking very much of it," Charles smiles, shifting his hips with a little groan.

Erik looks at him. "Still think you got what you wanted?"

"Absolutely," says Charles. "Didn't you?"

He knows already; Erik's admitting nothing, really, when he says, "Yes." He's giving nothing away when he wraps his arm around Charles and pulls him close, pressing his lips to Charles's sweat-dampened hair.

"There you have it," Charles says, satisfied, curling warmly up against him in the sun. "This is why you should always let me drive."


End file.
